


The Firework.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Elladan struggles with his painting.22: 'Nocturne: Black and Gold' Whistler.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	The Firework.

They called her Haeredhel, for she would not tell her name, saying that it would sound wrong in their strange accents. She had come from beyond Dorwinion, so far to the east that the maps were fanciful and full of empty spaces. She had come to study with his father, and he had come to admire her.  
Elladan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking in exasperation at the parchment pinned to the board in front of him. He had been trying for hours to draw her face, but she would not sit for him, saying she was too busy. He could not capture her likeness, though every night in the Hall of Fire he stared at her until he felt that if only he had charcoal to hand he could sketch just a few lines, so, and then he would have her.  
He had never struggled so with a likeness; it was his one talent, but he knew he would never be counted among the great artists, and had been content with his hobby, until Haeredhel came to Imladris.

His mother entered, smiling, and put an arm around his shoulders as she looked at the rough sketch. "My dear, I can tell who it is that you would draw, but I urge you not to show her this one."  
"Oh mother, what am I to do?"  
"Artistically? Or in matters of the heart?"  
"Both!"  
"When I was young, I fancied myself an artist. You may well smile! Nothing of mine now remains, for I burned it all, long ago. But we were taught that the highest demonstration of skill was to capture the fleeting, as, the bee in flight, or the bursting of a firework. It might prove a distraction for your mind, to pursue another path..."  
"Improve my art and mend my heart?"  
Celebrian smiled and kissed his brow "I came to tell you that Mithrandir has returned for your father’s begetting day. There will be fireworks then, you might like to try painting them."

Elladan spent hours preparing his paints, his palette, his brushes, and set his easel on the bank by the rose bushes, out of the crowd. All Imladris was in festive mood, brightly cloured lanterns and garlands hung from every tree, lining and crossing the paths, bridges, terraces, courtyards and gardens. The light filled the valley, he wondered how they would even see the fireworks through the glare.

The noise seemed much louder from above, he became aware of the stillness and silence around him, the fading scent of roses as the night drew over, and the green smell of rising dew. Bursts of laughter and song, music from three different groups of musicians, and savoury scents from the bakehouse filled the air. He decided he could risk a small glass of wine, to calm him down, and almost spilled it as from the terrace above and behind him, a rocket roared into the sky and burst into a shower of golden sparks. A great cheer arose from the elves below, and another rocket soared into the sky. Elladan watched with all his spirit, sharpened into a cone of alertness, trying to fix the image in his mind.

He picked up the brush and carefully dabbed spots of white onto the black he had already painted. But the effect was unconvincing. More rockets roared past, Mithrandir unleashed, creating images and shapes that awed the watching elves. The sky was full of deafening sound, exploding over them, echoing in the steep valley, burst after burst, cascades of sound, and dazzling showers of swift-fading stars. In despair, Elladan flicked the brush at the canvas, then rose to his feet in astonishment. For, quite by chance, the spatter of paint seemed to his half-dazzled eyes to have caught exactly the fall of lights. 

He sucked in a great breath and took a deep draught of wine, and there she was, Haeredhel herself, dark against the dark sky.   
"So here is the artist, while all Imladris is at play, toiling at his craft."  
"I... I was told to paint the fireworks."  
"May I see?"  
"I... of course." Elladan moved back, and Haeredhel stepped into the light. He gasped, her smooth dark skin was painted, with a falling firework, that seemed to have burst where her right eye was, and to scatter points of light down across her cheek. When he looked closely, he could see that tiny gems had been stuck to her skin, which glittered in the light. The effect was dazzling, he gaped at her. Haeredhel smiled and looked down at his painting and gasped "But that is marvellous! I had heard that you drew only amusing likenesses, forgive me, I did not take you for a true artist. If you still wish it, I will sit for you. Though" she gestured gracefully with a long-fingered hand "If you have the skill to capture the firework in flight, I do not see that you would need do more than glance at me in passing!"

  



End file.
